The Battlefield Diaries: The Siege of Shanghai
by CodeOperator
Summary: The year is 2020, the world is in chaos. Chinese voice for peace Jin Jie has been murdered aboard the American ship USS Valkyrie by the Chinese PLA Admiral Chang Wei. America retaliated for the loss of both the USS Titan and the USS Valkyrie with a declaration of war. Seeking to manipulate Chang Wei, the Russian army joined the fray, resulting in the Global War of 2020.


The Siege of Shanghai.

In mere moments, operation Concrete Dragon would commence, hundreds of lives would be lost on both sides, and God willing, the Marines would have a secure foothold in Shanghai. The 31st MEU, under the command of the 3rd MEF, had deployed several hundred Ground Combat Element Marines, along with multiple tilt-rotor and rotor aircraft, including MV-22 Ospreys, AH-1Z Vipers, and UH-1Y Venoms, as well as a US Army loaned AH-6J Little Bird and a US Air Force AC-130 Spectre gunship on standby. The mission of these aerial vehicles was to provide transportation, Close Air Support, and reconnaissance. The Ground Combat Element was not without toys of their own, mechanized with multiple MRAPs, M1A3 Abrams tanks, and several LAV-25 Infantry Fighting Vehicles. Surprisingly enough, the Reconnaissance Assault Platoon had deployed several Designated Marksmen and Scout Snipers to provide long-range fire support, target identification, and security for high-priority units, i.e. squad leaders and Marines designated as High-Value Targets by the Chinese PLA. Additionally, the Navy had deployed a newly acquired RCB, or Riverine Command Boat, nicknamed the, "Death Boat," by the Marines as it was equipped with a TOW missile, 25mm auto-cannon, two side-mounted M134 Miniguns, and an Active Protection Module, designed to emit a high-intensity radio signal at the last minute to confuse incoming missiles and detonate them. However, rumors were that the PLA had deployed their own equivalent of the RCB, the DV-15 Interceptor. Time would tell who makes the better Death Boat, but for the time being, the Marines were more concerned about getting control of the main skyscraper, and that job was left to Fireteam Dice.  
They were comprised of a Combat Engineer, a Marine armed with an LMG, a man from the Reconnaissance Assault Platoon, a Corpsman, and a Grenadier, each of them veterans of the Global War of 2014, having fought everywhere from the desert hell of Karkand, Pakistan, to the urban gardens of Seine, France, to the frozen wastelands of the Alborz Mountains. They were the best shot of taking the PLA controlled skyscraper, and if they failed, the Naval Commander warned, drastic action would have to be taken to take control of the center of the Battlefield, involving much collateral damage. Failure was not an option.

The squad leader, also member of Fireteam Dice and team Grenadier by the name of Pearson, nodded slightly as a familiar beat began to play in the Fireteam's headsets, drowning out the whining sound of the Venom transport helicopter powering up. The Pilot and Co-Pilot checked the avionics and completed their preflight checklist while the Crew Chiefs spun up the door-mounted M134 Miniguns. The helicopter blades begin to whir and soon they were off, the roaring sound being replaced by a song the Fireteam had heard many times before battle, most notably during the operations in Iraq and Iran during the PLR's invasion of its neighbor.  
"You can run on for a long time, run on for a long time, run on for a long time, sooner or later God'll cut you down, sooner or later God'll cut you down."  
Nobody really knew why they listened to it, nobody in the Fireteam or even the squad was a particular fan of Johnny Cash, they just knew they'd always listened to it before a fight. Pearson tapped his foot against the metal deck of the Venom in time with the beat, the man from Recon, Kovatch, had his eyes closed, his hands loosely but securely holding his M40A5 sniper rifle. The man was awfully quiet, often only speaking when it was absolutely necessary, and was absolutely lethal in CQB, as evident by the small bloodstains on his trench knife that he'd been unable to fully clean off. He then looked to LMG Marine, Welsh. The trigger-heavy younger man had acute ADHD, twiddling his thumbs, rapidly tapping his foot, and rearranging bullet belts in their pouches for no real reason other than his mental disposition. He was slightly more muscular than the others, mostly due to humping his M249 around all day, the heavy weapon inevitably bulking him up. He then looked to the Corpsman, Milton. Like the rest of the Marines, he was outfitted with desert MARPAT and had nearly identical gear to Pearson, but where Pearson had 40mm shells and frag pouches, he had IFAKs and medical bags, fabric scissors replacing Pearson's Bowie knife, and an M4 carbine replacing Pearson's full-length M16A4 assault rifle. He then glanced to the final member, the Combat Engineer, Ackerman. He was of a medium build with pale skin, wielding a UMP-45, a blowtorch on his belt with M2 Slam mines on his pack. He didn't talk a whole lot, but wasn't antisocial like Kovatch.  
"Thirty seconds out, Marines, landing over the Metro, red light, standby."  
Pearson lifted his hinged balaclava over his face, concealing every inch of his skin, ready to hit the ground running. He glanced down to see two Abrams tanks with a squad of 12 Marines following, an MRAP unloading its troops near the entrance to the metro only to be met with a hail of gunfire, halting their entry as a wounded man was dragged back from the entryway.  
"Hot landing, hitting the dirt in 10, standby."  
"Go tell that long tongue liar, go tell that midnight rider, tell the rambler, the gambler, the backbiter, tell 'em that God's gonna cut them down."

The Marines landed, their boots hitting the ground just as the Commander came online to direct the battle. They descended the now quiet stairs into the metro as a Viper rained fiery death from above on what looked like a mall in the distance.  
"Contact!" Welsh shouted as he scrambled to a nearby pillar just in time to avoid a burst from the other side of the metro. All Marines immediately began returning fire, the modern art mosaic piece in the center of the metro crumbling under the hail of lead, a PLA grenade exploding near a pillar, the shrapnel slicing open Ackerman's shoulder. Pearson emptied his magazine, several of the rounds injuring a PLA soldier, causing him to stumble before being finished off with a double-tap to the head from Pearson's custom M9, the mounted ghost ring allowing him easy sight alignment with the soldier's head. Seeing no more immediate threats, his heart still pounding from the intense but brief gunfight, he checked on his team.  
"Give me a sitrep," he demanded over the comms.  
"I'm good boss," Welsh stated, his hands shaking from adrenaline.  
"I'm up," Kovatch growled throatily.  
"I'm up too," Milton replied in between gasps for air, a bullet having hit his vest, knocking the wind out of him.  
"I'm fucked up, but I'm up," Ackerman said, binding a mild shrapnel laceration on his left arm with gauze from an IFAK Milton had tossed him.  
"Alright, everyone's up, let's move up, metro's secure."  
The Marines and Corpsman reloaded as necessary and moved up the stairs to exit the metro, a strange rumbling sound could be heard, putting Pearson ill at ease.  
"TANK!" Kovatch shouted as he sprinted back, tripping down the stairs. Pearson wasn't as lucky, the shockwave from the Type-99 MBT's main cannon threw him down the stairs, breaking a few ribs on impact.  
"Where the hell'd that Abrams go?" Pearson coughed as he got up, limping away from the staircase.  
"It got mobility killed," Ackerman said, "Type 99's going to finish it off if we don't do something."  
"Yeah, unless it finishes us off first!" Welsh panicked.  
"Shut up, both of you," Kovatch growled, "I've got an idea. It's about to pass over that pillar, problem is it's being repaired, hence the fencing around it. Sergeant Pearson, you'll launch a 40mm HE round at the pillar on my go, I'll plant a charge on the tank and blow it, everyone else get to cover unless you want to get turned into mulch, now."  
Pearson nodded and loaded a round into his underbarrel M320 grenade launcher, crouching behind a stack of wooden pallets as Kovatch crouched in a ready-to-sprint position, C4 charge already in hand, the other Marines were prone in a gift shop, using the overturned racks of products for cover.  
"Now, Sergeant!"  
Pearson didn't hesitate to pull the trigger, launching the explosive into the pillar, blowing it up and causing the road above to cave in and sink, bringing the trapped tank to their level, the barrel stuck in the concrete wreckage. Kovatch took off like a shot, slamming a charge down on the front of the tank above the driver's position and another one on the back above the engine.  
Pearson didn't hesitate to run as fast as he could away from the tank, trying to keep up with the lightning fast Kovatch, the resulting explosion as he clacked the detonator sending shrapnel and flames in all directions, miraculously leaving Pearson and the Marines unharmed.  
"Okay," Pearson said, checking his magazine out of habit, "Now we'll go up top."  
The Marines filed out of the metro, weapons ready. Ackerman glanced over at the damaged Abrams tank, readying his blowtorch.  
"Looks like a simple fix, shouldn't take me more than a minute." Pearson waved him off, eager to have local armored support.  
Ackerman began welding closed a hole caused by a Sabot shell, the impact having knocked out the driver. The crewmen of the tank helped him out, rolling him on his back on the street, checking for any additional injuries other than the obvious head wound. He waved them off, shakily getting on his feet and climbing back into the now repaired tank.  
"Stop that motherfucker!" A bloody Marine pointed at an MRAP being driven by a PLA soldier, heading for the PLA controlled skyscraper. Kovatch knelt and fired a shot from his M40A5 into the tire, slowing it enough for Ackerman to fire an RPG he'd yanked off a PLA corpse into the back of the MRAP, disabling it long enough for the tank to fire the killing shot, turning it into a fiery ball of scrap metal. The Marines continued on, but stopped and looked at the Shanghai Harbor, the Death Boat sitting derelict, its crew having been shot by a .50 cal emplacement on the other side of the harbor.  
"Anybody here know how to sail?" Ackerman asked, scanning the towering rooftops for enemy marksmen.  
"I do," Pearson said, hopping onto the deck of the boat, pulling the deceased driver out of the seat and sitting him up against the bulkhead, closing his eyes. "All aboard, let's go. Welsh, Milton, get on the Miniguns, Ackerman, I want you in the back, get ready to perform emergency repairs as necessary. Kovatch, stay on the shore, take out any high priority threats."  
The Marines nodded and jumped aboard, Kovatch sprinting across the bridge and up the stairs of a hastily constructed wooden guard tower, throwing the body of its Chinese occupant over the side, took a knee and set his rifle over the railing, steadying his breathing into a familiar pattern and began scanning for threats. His eyes narrowed, a low growl escaping his throat. Several Marines were pinned down behind a burning LAV-25, one man performing CPR on one of the drivers while the others either returned fire or ducked behind the wreckage, praying they wouldn't be shot.  
"Not today," he muttered in his gravelly voice, disengaging the safety and sighting in on the head of a PLA machine gunner.  
"Nothing personal," he said as he squeezed the trigger, the bullet sailing through the air and splattering the man's brains on the concrete barrier behind him. "It's just business."

Thanks to Kovatch, the Marines on the ground had managed to take the ground floor of the skyscraper, posting sentries by the skyscraper's bayside entrance as Fireteam Dice wreaked havoc in the RCB, launching rockets at armor, pelting soft targets with the Miniguns, and destroying cover with the 25mm auto-cannon.  
"I'm on a boat!" Welsh shouted, letting lose a barrage with his Minigun. "I'm on a boat!" Another barrage was let lose, the weapon firing so fast individual shots were impossible to distinguish, sawing a man on the shore completely in half. "Take a good hard look at the fuckin' Death Boat!"  
"Head in the game, Welsh!" Ackerman shouted over the gunfire as he hung off the side of the boat by one hand and a boot, welding shut a series of small holes opened up by a .50 cal emplacement that was now a burning pile of scrap metal thanks to a well-placed TOW missile launched remotely by Pearson. Suddenly, the boat took a massive hit, nearly overturning it, an alarm blaring as a red "Warning, engine fire" icon came up on the display, causing Pearson to jump out of the driving seat just in time to see a Chinese attack helicopter fly overhead, smoke trailing from the Zuni rocket tubes. He frantically looked around for an anti-air rocket, but to no avail, however there was one point of egress, two two-seater jet skis attached to the back of the RCB.  
"Everyone on the PWCs!"  
The four Marines jumped on the Personal Water Crafts, the military term for jet skis, and immediately took off for the bayside entrance of the skyscraper. One of the four sentries was already dead at the entrance, the helicopter's tri-barreled cannon having blown stone fragments off of the Chinese lion statues sending the stone shrapnel into the back of the sentry's head, the blunt-force trauma strong enough to kill him instantly.  
The two jet skis landed at the polished marble stairs, the Marines disembarking and charging into the skyscraper for the elevators after the sentries. Unfortunately for one of the sentries, the helicopter hovered at the entrance, firing its auto-cannon directly into the back of one of the three surviving sentries, the large explosive shell punching a massive hole in his back, turning his vital organs into mush. Another sentry jammed his thumb into the call button, but died just before the elevator doors opened due to a TV missile exploding about a meter away from him and traumatically amputating his right leg, the concussion throwing him into a pillar, breaking his neck. The surviving sentry and Fireteam Dice threw themselves into the open elevator, the door closing behind them as the helicopter reloaded its cannon, the Marines breathing a collective sigh of relief as they began their ascent to the top of the skyscraper.

Kovatch scowled at the sight of the helicopter beginning to fly around the skyscraper, scanning each floor for the Marines. Unfortunately, he had no way of taking it down. He was accurate, but not THAT accurate. He swung his rifle to the right as PLA soldiers began storming the now desolate bottom floor of the skyscraper.  
"Sergeant," he harshly whispered on his comms. "Multiple tangoes storming the ground floor, break, about nine of them inside with another dozen moving towards the metro, break, how copy?"  
Static.  
"Sergeant Pearson, this is Kovatch, how copy?"  
Again, static.  
"Shit," he throatily growled. He slung his rifle over his back and jumped out of the guard tower, rolling to disperse the impact. He raised his shemagh over his mouth and lowered his boonie hat over his brow, the shadow concealing his eyes. He unholstered his suppressed Heckler and Koch Compact .45, slowly advancing towards the entrance. He crouched behind the reception desk, planting a T-UGS motion-detecting device behind it, noting that five of the enemies had already taken an elevator up while the other four had stayed behind, patrolling the ground floor.  
"Four on one," he muttered. "Bad odds," he grinned predatorily to himself, "For them."  
He scurried behind the desk and turned on the ground-floor televisions to a heavy-metal music station to better conceal any sound his pistol produced. The motion detector went off again as they all jumped and began searching, thoroughly startled. One of them happened to walk past the reception desk, the last mistake he would ever make. Kovatch reached over the desk, one hand over the man's mouth and the other on the pull tab of the man's vest, yanking him behind the desk and firing twice into the man's carbon helmet at point-blank range. One down, three to go. He removed the man's now ventilated helmet and tossed it into the open, startling the other two soldiers nearby.  
"Damn, two of them." He slowly approached, pistol at the ready, but the first soldier turned just in time to see Kovatch crouch-walking towards him. He shouted, but his weapon was kicked out of his hands. Kovatch pistol-whipped his un-helmeted head and spun around him, putting him into a hostage chokehold, the man's neck in the crook of his elbow and his pistol pressed against his temple. The second soldier slowly backed away, his face concealed by a gas mask, but if Kovatch had to guess, he was scared.  
"Enough of this," Kovatch snarled, firing four times into the opposing man's torso, then firing once into the hostage's brainstem.  
"Three rounds left." He reached for a new magazine on his vest, but the final man rounded the corner at the worst possible moment, weapon already raised in Kovatch's direction. He sprinted to a nearby couch for cover, sliding on his knees at the last second as rounds zipped over his unprotected head. Kovatch leaned up and fired his last three rounds in the soldier's direction, one of the bullets striking his weapon, knocking it out of his hands. The man slowly backed up as Kovatch vaulted over the couch, discarding his pistol. The man drew his bayonet and charged Kovatch, attempting an overhead stab, but Kovatch grabbed the man's wrists with one hand and the pommel of the knife with the other and forced the man's knife into his own gut. He staggered backwards to the marble stairs leading into the water, his knife embedded in his own stomach. All traces of humanity gone, Kovatch grabbed the pin of the man's exposed grenade on his vest and Sparta-kicked him into the bay, the soldier's outdated Chinese gear forcing him to sink into the water, muffling the following explosion.  
"Four down."

Pearson was in the fight of his life. Just a minute ago, things had been fine, the tower had been taken and as far as they knew the fight was progressing well on the ground. However just a moment ago the hovering Little Bird took a hit from an IGLA anti-air missile, bringing it to the skyscraper's flat top floor as PLA soldiers flooded the roof.  
"Milton, go!"  
The Corpsman was off like a bolt of lightning, yanking the pilot out of his seat as the two soldiers decked out in OCP riding on the sides of the helicopter jumped off and rescued the co-pilot. He yanked the pilot's helmet off and checked for a pulse. Finding one, he then checked for breathing. Shallow, but there, he'd have to act fast. Milton yanked the fabric scissors off of his assault pack and immediately cut away the man's green flight-suit around his leg, shrapnel having entered the femoral artery. Milton unlimbered his Combat Application Tourniquet and immediately applied it above the wound. He'd lose the leg for sure, but if the tourniquet wasn't applied, he'd die in a matter of minutes from blood loss. This is where the Corpsman thrived. At home, he was geeky, awkward, and tended to like to be alone, however under stress with a clear goal, he was the best at his job, no contest, and Pearson knew and respected him for it. One of the soldiers covering Milton took a bullet in the neck, straight through the trachea and into the spine. He was dead, Milton knew it, and forced himself to ignore the gruesome sight. The second soldier, barely 19, a Specialist, shouted in rage and fired his M4A1 on fully automatic, expending ammo he just didn't have. As soon as he ran out and went for a fresh magazine, a PLA marksman leaned up over the bar and triple tapped him in the chest, the 7.62x54mm rounds piercing his body armor and stopping his heart. Somehow, Milton ignored this as well and ignored the rounds snapping around him as he worked to save the Co-Pilot, the Pilot stabilized. The last surviving sentry from the bottom floor attempted to sprint across the open to Milton's location only to be shot in the knee by the PLA marksman, but his momentum was enough that he slid behind a couch, screaming in agony. Milton ignored this as well. Yes, he'd be crippled for life, but he wouldn't die, not like the Co-Pilot he now focused on. This one was in cardiopulmonary arrest, he had only minutes to act. Milton took out his defibrillator, rubbed the paddles together, applied them to his side and chest, and yelled, "CLEAR!" Before delivering the shock. The soldier's body violently jumped and he woke up coughing violently as Milton pulled him into the recovery position and checked the man's vitals. Stable, both soldiers would live. His work done, the slim man unslung his M4 and began returning fire to the PLA marksman, keeping his head down. Only one way to solve this. He searched the dead kid's IOTV vest and pulled out what would be his saving grace, an M67 Frag Grenade.  
"Sorry kid," he said, and he truly meant it. He'd seen the worst of the war. Not the killings, but the cripplings and the people the dead left behind, it pained him to see death, but it was his job. He pulled the pin on the grenade, counted to two, yelled, "Frag out!" and threw the grenade at the bar.  
The man shouted and attempted to run from the explosive, but the cooked grenade went off perfectly for Milton, sending the Chinese soldier cartwheeling off the side of the skyscraper.

Pearson was confident they were going to win, there should only be one or two guys left, the first having been gunned down by Welsh, the second was sent flying off the side of the skyscraper by Milton's grenade, and the third had been killed by Ackerman's looted RPG.  
"One left, move up!" The Marines and Sailor cautiously approached, weapons raised. To Pearson's surprise, the masked soldier walked out from cover, hands raised. The Americans all immediately began shouting and screaming orders at once to confuse and startle him.  
"On your fucking knees! NOW!" The man complied. Pearson approached, zip cuffs in hand, and rounded the corner of the elevator block to be met by the barrel of a QBS-09 shotgun.  
"You die, Yankee!" The heavily accented soldier yelled, and pulled the trigger, only to be met by a click, but before he could turn off the safety the elevator dinged open, and a familiar set of brass knuckles attached to a bloodstained knife lurched out of the elevator, punching the man in the face. As the soldier staggered backwards, blood gushing from his very broken nose, Kovatch aggressively advanced and stabbed him twice in the throat, ripping the knife out sideways on the second stab and yanked his dog tags off as he spun in a bloody pirouette to the ground. Kovatch nodded to his brothers as he slipped the tags into a jingling pouch filled with enemy tags. Technically illegal, but at this point Pearson didn't care. He approached and shook the Recon Marine's hand, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips.  
"Glad you could join us Corporal, damn good timing."  
The man nodded silently, sheathing his knife and drawing his pistol, loading a fresh magazine into the strangely empty weapon.  
"Bottom floor's clear for now, they're advancing on the Metro, we've got snipers pinning them down from the roofs and the storefronts, but it won't last forever. We need to-" But he was cut off by the tower violently shaking.  
"What the hell was that?!" Welsh shouted in panic.  
"Sergeant, you're going to want to see this!" Ackerman waved them over to the side of the roof. Upon joining them, Pearson saw three Type 99 tanks firing on the pillars of the skyscraper, intending to bring it down.  
"This tower isn't going to last for long," Ackerman analyzed. "I'll call for medevac for the pilots Milton saved and the sentry, any ideas how to take care of those tanks, Sergeant?"  
"Yeah, I've got one. Everyone has their parachutes, right?" The Marines nodded warily as Pearson contacted the Commander back on the ship.  
"Sir, this is Sergeant Pearson, Fireteam Dice, 2nd squad, Alpha Platoon, Ground Combat Element. We're on the skyscraper, but we've got three enemy tanks firing on the pillars, we believe they're trying to take it down. Requesting fire support, how copy, over?"  
"Good copy, Sergeant, laze your target and we'll send a Tomahawk your way, out."  
"Kovatch, do you have your PLD?"  
The quiet man nodded and pulled out his Personal Laser Designator and fired the infrared beam at the center tank, holding the lock. In the distance, a bright flash could be seen in the bay leading out into the South China Sea, a fiery pillar rising into the air at high speeds.  
"Cruise missile away, ETA, fifteen seconds."  
"Boss!" Ackerman shouted. "Medevac's here, we're loading the casualties, we need to get out of here!"  
Before he could respond, Kovatch replied hoarsely, "Negative, the lock needs to be maintained, the Sergeant and I will figure it out, you and the others get out, now." Surprised at the man's rare speech, Ackerman and the others complied, getting onto the Venom transport chopper just before it took off. Pearson watched with anticipation as the cruise missile reached its apex directly over the target, then went sonic and barreled downwards at a 90 degree angle to the enemy tanks, the resulting fireball disintegrating the infantry and wrecking the tanks, but the damage was done, and the tower wouldn't last.  
"Parachutes ready, Kovatch, we're getting out of here." Kovatch grunted in reply and secured the PLD to his pack.  
"Hey!" An accented voice yelled behind them, "What about me?!"  
In a display of what some might call cruelty, Kovatch and Pearson viewed it as an act of mercy, firing a bullet from his sniper rifle into his head. While Kovatch couldn't see the man's head behind his gas mask, he was positive it wasn't pretty. Slinging the rifle on his back, Kovatch sprinted after Pearson to the edge of the skyscraper, jumping off just as it began to crumble. Pearson held up three fingers, counting down, and upon hitting zero the Marines pulled the tabs on their parachutes, safely deploying them. Problem was they were heading to the mall, enemy territory.  
"Kovatch," Pearson said over his headset, "I'm heading for the mall, you get to the store on the left and set up a hide, watch my ass, how copy?"  
"You got it," he throatily growled.  
Pearson glanced town at the fallen skyscraper, and where once stood a monument to the greatness of human engineering now was just a pile of rubble, rebar, concrete, and steel extending about 120 meters into the bay.  
"Boss," Welsh called in over the comms, "We're back in the metro, but we're getting overrun, I'm not sure we can hold out man!" A second voice was heard among the sounds of gunfire and bullets snapping too close for comfort, shouting, "Head in the game, We-argh!" "Oh shit! Ackerman just got hit!"  
"Welsh I need you to listen to me," Pearson forcefully stated. "Close your eyes, inhale, and count to four. Exhale, count to four, open your eyes." Waiting for the sounds of his shaky breathing, he continued. "Now get a Corpsman for Ackerman."  
"Sure thing, Boss," he shakily replied. "Yo! Milton! Get your ass over here, Ackerman's hit!" "Can't move Welsh, I'm pinned!"  
"Okay, Jason listen to me," he said calmly, using Welsh's first name. "Ackerman's pinned, do you know from where?"  
"Uh… oh shit," he faintly breathed, "I think it's from behind that jeep, or whatever the hell it is."  
"Good, do you have any smoke grenades, and how's your ammo count?"  
"Uh, yeah, two smokes, and I've got about 100 rounds left in the box." He was regaining control.  
"Good, throw the smokes between you and Milton, wait for the cloud to build up, then suppress that jeep, got it? Tell Milton to run on your mark, and as soon as he runs, engage, got it?"  
"Yes Sergeant, I got it. Yo, Milton, get your ass over here as soon as I say run!" There was a dull metallic popping sound as the two smoke grenades went off, and a hissing following as the smoke was emitted.  
"Run man, run!" Immediately after that, the sound of his M249 deafened Pearson slightly, forcing him to lower the volume on his headset, wincing.  
"Milton here, I made it, Ackerman got hit in the ribs, just barely missed his right lung, he needs medevac."  
"Copy that Milton, what happened to that Venom?"  
"Pilot took a hit, he's stable but unconscious, and nobody else knows how to fly a helicopter. Can you get the Commander involved, maybe direct some support our way to ease up the pressure?"  
Pearson looked up to the sky, an idea forming as he touched down on the roof of the mall.  
"I think I've got an idea, standby." He switched channels to the Commander.  
"Sir, this is Dice Lead, my men are pinned down at the metro and are in serious need of assistance, can you redirect that AC-130 to their location, over?"  
"Copy that Squad Lead, AC-130 dispatched, will be within firing distance in 20 seconds, out." Pearson glanced over where Kovatch landed in the shadows, creeping into the designated building, setting up his hide.  
"Squad Lead, this is Actual, the gunners on the gunship request your men mark their position with IR flares, how copy?"  
"Good copy Actual, standby." He switched channels again, the roar of Welsh's machine gun still ongoing. "Milton, I need you to mark your position with flares for the AC-130, how copy?" "Solid copy!" He paused as the roof elevator dinged open below him, as he had landed on a level slightly above the elevator where the AC units were. Two Chinese soldiers exited, both armed with the JS2 submachine gun. He paused for a second, thinking his plans out, drawing his Bowie knife in preparation.  
"Hey boss! Great timing on that gunship, blew those fuckers sky high!"  
The two soldiers started at this and whirled in his direction giving him no choice but to jump down and stab the first soldier in the heart, the other one fired a burst, the low caliber bullets deflecting off of his armor, but the impact broke a few ribs and winded him, causing him to fall backwards. The soldier approached and raised his weapon in preparation to fire, but didn't get the chance as his head exploded like a watermelon.  
"That's twice now, Sergeant."  
"Yeah," he said shakily picking himself up, "How many beers does that equate to?"  
"More than you can afford," Kovatch replied in his dry sense of humor.

Pearson swiftly climbed down the service ladder on the side of the mall, not liking being this exposed and in the case of being spotted, he had no way to return fire, he'd have to hope Kovatch could dispatch any threats he came across. Thankfully, no such threats arose as he reached ground level. He looked for a quiet way in, finding one in a window that had been shattered by the earlier Viper's gun run.  
"Kovatch, I'm heading in now, there's something on the bridge between wings, I'm going to check it out." Ascending a stopped escalator on the right wing of the mall to the second floor, he checked around the mall for anything of use or of note. Bloodstains, dead civilians and PLA, briefcases with the contents strewn about, scorch and blast marks, craters and bullet holes. Overall, it was a warzone.  
"See anything?" Kovatch whispered.  
"I haven't checked the bridge or the left wing, standby."  
Pearson walked to the bridge, weapon up. It shouldn't have been this deserted, it was enemy territory not ten minutes ago. Then, he found something on the bridge, something definitely of note.  
"Kovatch, I've got a weapon here, USAS-12 automatic shotgun. Appears to be loaded with…" he ejected the ten round magazine and checked. Green shells? "Kovatch, any idea what green shells are in a combat load?"  
"Frags, Sergeant you just stumbled upon an automatic shotgun with explosive shells. You might want to hang onto that."  
Pearson nervously reinserted the magazine, wary of setting off the explosive 12 gauge shells.  
"Sergeant be advised you've got a contingent of PLA heading your way from the skyscraper, they're in a ZBD-09 Infantry Fighting Vehicle and a few armored trucks, looks like ZBF-05s. I'll see what I can do about the IFV, but I've only got one charge left, not enough to do more than disable it."  
Pearson scrambled to a wall, using it for cover.  
"Solid copy, I'll see what I can do about getting us a supply drop." He switched channels to the commander.  
"Sir, Dice lead here, requesting a supply drop by the mall, and if possible reinforcements. Seriously outgunned here, one IFV and multiple gun trucks, over."  
"Solid copy Dice lead, sending an MV-22 your way with a supply crate, ETA one minute, out."  
Pearson tensed at the thought of surviving a major assault for a whole minute. This was not going to be easy, and most likely he'd be dead in a minute. He glanced around the corner and spotted Kovatch throwing his last C4 charge into the middle of the street. He trusted Milton enough to know when to detonate it as he activated the green laser sight on his weapon and steadied his breathing.  
KABOOM.  
The charge detonated right under the IFV, sending it spinning onto its side, the gun trucks pulling over in a circle around it. The infantry dismounted and a squad leader bravely jumped onto the IFV and pulled out its occupants. Kovatch hid in the shadows behind the checkout desk in the liquor store, racking the slide on his pistol in preparation for what he knew would be his last fight. Before he could engage, he heard a rapid series of explosions as Pearson fired his automatic explosive shotgun, sending body parts flying and survivors scrambling for cover. Pearson dropped the magazine and slung the weapon over his shoulder, picking up an RGO impact grenade off of a dead PLA soldier and throwing it. The unique properties of the grenade caused it to explode on impact, giving the two soldiers it killed no time to react before they were torn limb from limb. The three machine guns on the gun trucks opened up, suppressing the hell out of Pearson. He shakily shoved the remaining magazine in the shotgun and racked the bolt, his vision blurring from the incoming ammunition. He slumped against the wall and slid down to a sitting position, breathing erratically. "Kovatch, I think it ends here."  
"It's been an honor, Sergeant," the quiet sniper replied.  
The two Marines sprinted out from cover, weapons raised, determined to go out fighting. Just then, an ATV ridden by Milton and Welsh thundered at the three vehicles, the two warriors jumping off and rolling before it came to rest in the center of the gun trucks. Welsh held a detonator in his hands, holding it in front of him with his hips arced back. "Fuck…" he began, "YOU!" He detonated the C4 on the ATV as he thrust his pelvis forward violently, the three gun trucks exploding in a brilliant fireball. "Yeah, that's what happened when I did that to your mom last night, bitch!" A lone survivor crawled out of the wreckage, coughing. He stood and attempted to raise his RPG, but before he could fire, he was crushed by a giant box that dropped from a hovering MV-22 Osprey. "Supply drop delivered, out."  
The assembled men couldn't help but laugh, adrenaline wearing off.  
"Command," Pearson said wearily over the radio. "This is Pearson, the mall is secure, awaiting orders, over."  
"Good copy, Sergeant, proceed to the following coordinates on your map, over."  
A set of coordinates pointed Pearson and his team to the rubble island that was once the skyscraper in the middle of the bay.  
"Sergeant, be advised, a hostile DV-15 Interceptor has been spotted in the bay circling the rubble, over."  
Pearson approached the supply crate, ignoring the blood that splattered upwards on the sides from the crushed soldier below. Inside, he found just what he needed. An FGM-148 Javelin Rocket Launcher.  
"Solid copy, command. We're equipped to engage, out." He turned to his men, hefting the large rocket. "Okay, we're going to that rubble island and we're securing it. There's an enemy Death Boat in the bay, we're taking it out. Resupply and grab whatever explosives you need. Milton and Welsh, you're on point. Kovatch, you're on rear security. If you see that boat, lase it so I can engage without line of sight. Everyone good?" The men nodded as one and moved to the supply crate, grabbing fresh magazines and grenades. Milton grabbed a standalone M320 grenade launcher, loading it with an HE shell. Welsh tossed his C4 detonator over his shoulder and pulled out an XM-25 Airburst, useful for taking out entrenched enemies behind cover. Kovatch stuck to his C4 and PLD, but due to the tightness of the rubble, he switched to a semi-automatic Designated Marksman Rifle, the Mk. 11 Mod 0. Due to the substantial weight of the launcher, Pearson selected an MP7 submachine gun.  
"Okay, let's move."

After a good bit of jogging, the Marines arrived at the base of the rubble island, giant shattered walls of concrete obscured line of sight, steel stuck out at random intervals, rebar was scattered here and there.  
"Kovatch, fall back, keep an eye out for that boat, I don't want any surprises."  
"Aye Sergeant." Kovatch jogged back to the start of the bridge, dropping down and crouching in the shadows.  
"Milton, Welsh, move up, heads on a swivel. I'm on your six."  
The Marines silently complied, weapons raised.  
"Sergeant, be advised, I've got eyes on the boat, lasing it now."  
Pearson held up a fist, "Halt!"  
The Marines stopped and knelt while Pearson armed his Javelin and set it to top attack. Suddenly, they heard soldiers shouting in Mandarin as they reacted to the radar-lock alarm given off by the Death Boat.  
"He's popping IR smoke, Sergeant, wait one."  
"Contact!" Milton stood and fired his M4, the burst ripping into one soldier. Welsh's sheer volume of fire tore the other soldier's legs to ribbons before he was finished with a burst from Milton.  
"Sergeant, smoke's dissipated, I'm reacquiring the lock, standby."  
Three Chinese Marines wearing Type 07 Oceanic Pattern advanced aggressively, armed with SAR-21s. Low rate of fire, but extremely accurate. Pearson fired a suppressing burst from his MP7, forcing them to duck behind a wall of rubble. A grenade was impossible as there was a low roof of concrete over them. Fortunately for Welsh, his XM-25 was built exactly for this situation. He aimed it at the wall the hostile Marines hid behind, locked it, and fired his weapon. The projectiles sailed over the cover, but then exploded once they had passed it, staining the grey concrete roof bright red.  
"Moving up!" Milton called after performing a tactical reload.  
"Covering!" Welsh replied, setting up his bipod.  
"Kovatch," Pearson activated his comms, "What's the ETA on that target designation?"  
"Almost…got it, target lased, fire at will."  
Pearson raised the launcher to his shoulder and aimed down the optic, locking onto the laser designation. "Clear backblast!" He shouted, wary of the lethal concussion that would emit upon firing.  
"Backblast clear, boss!" Welsh shouted in response.  
"Rocket, rocket, rocket!" With that, he launched the Javelin. It went about three meters before arcing upwards, launching a bit forward, then hurtling down to its target.  
BOOM.  
A massive explosion could be heard, smoke from the blast billowed into Pearson's line of sight.  
"Kovatch, requesting BDA."  
"Target destroyed, no survivors. Moving to provide long-range cover, how copy?"  
"Solid copy, Kovatch. Proceed when ready, out."

Kovatch ran further into enemy territory, back through the mall and to a skyscraper to the left of the rubble island on the other side of the bay. He switched to his pistol and used the brass knuckles on his knife to punch through the glass of a storefront leading to an elevator. He checked his back one last time before entering the elevator and ascending.  
_This vantage point,_ he mused, _should give me plenty of elevation to cover the team. _  
A though crossed his mind. What if someone was waiting at the top?  
_Better give myself the best chance possible._ He knelt at the side of the elevator to reduce his profile. Only a few more floors to go. He exhaled and closed his eyes.  
Ding!  
He snapped open his eyes just to see a man charge him with a knife. Kovatch grabbed his wrist, but the Chinese soldier kept forcing the blade closer and closer to Kovatch's neck. Unfortunately for the Chinese warrior, Kovatch didn't play nice. He raised his Compact .45 in his left hand and fired into the attacker's forearm, splintering the bone. The man screamed in pain and dropped the knife. Kovatch snatched it out of the air, stood and flipped it with his fingers on the tip, reared back and threw it through the goggles of the soldier, snapping his head back and killing him instantly. Kovatch holstered his pistol and walked up to the fallen man, yanking the deeply embedded knife out of his eye socket and snatching his dog tags. He checked around the roof to make sure he was safe, and upon confirming that he was the only one on the roof, he went prone and set up his bipod, zeroing his optic in to the correct distance. So far he could see that Pearson and his men appeared to be alone, but that was bound to change. Surely enough, a soldier arose from his cover and began engaging with his stolen M240B, the machine gun pinning Pearson's team.  
"Kovatch," he heard the distorted voice begin over the radio, "We're pinned, need assistance!"  
"On it," he stated, prizing his brevity as always.  
He inhaled, waited for his heart to slow down, and as soon as he felt it slow to about 60 beats per minute, he fired in between beats, exhaling. The shot flew true, but hit the soldier in his defensive body armor, knocking him down but not killing him. Fortunately for Kovatch, his weapon was semi-automatic. A quick adjustment of his scope to compensate for the distance and he fired another shot right into the side of the shooter's head.  
"Shooter down, you're clear to move up."  
"Copy that, we're moving."  
Seeing nobody else as they reached the end of the rubble island, he stood and folded his bipod, slinging his weapon across his back. Strangely enough, he heard an unnatural buzzing that grew louder and louder, building to a whirring noise.  
"Son of a bitch."  
The helicopter rose to the top of the building, missiles armed. He drew and fired his sidearm as fast as he could, sprinting for the elevator. However, he just wasn't fast enough. _Woosh_. A missile flew past him, the shockwave sending him flying to the edge of the skyscraper. Just as he fell over the edge, he jammed his knife into the side of the building, dangling and holding on for dear life. The helicopter flew over and hovered in front of him, the pilot raising his middle finger as his gunner spun up his cannon.

"Only a few more enemies, then we can all go home."  
The call from the commander came over the radio abruptly, supposedly to all Marine GCE units in the area.  
"Okay, we've got this area secure," Pearson muttered, checking his map. "We've got the mall secured as well, the only outstanding part of the AO we don't have immediate control over is by the waterfront restaurant."  
"Boss," Welsh started, sitting on a piece of concrete, his weapon laid wearily on his lap, "We're undermanned, we can't assault an enemy position by ourselves.  
"Welsh's right," Milton stated as he wrapped gauze around his calf where a round had gone clean through. "We won't survive another assault, it's just not feasible."  
Pearson looked at his weary men and nodded and sat on the dusty ground with his back to a large steel pole.  
"Hey Kovatch," he radioed in, "We're holding position, how copy?"  
Nothing.  
"Kovatch, this is Sergeant Pearson, we're holding position at the rubble island, take a breather, how copy, over?"  
Static.  
"Holy shit," Welsh exclaimed, standing and pointing at a man dangling off the edge of a skyscraper, "Is that Kovatch?!"

Kovatch stared into his own spinning doom, knuckles white, awaiting the rotating cannon to fire. Then, and idea struck him. It was suicide, insanity, but then again, sitting here waiting to die wasn't so much better. His life flashed before his eyes as he launched himself from the building and onto the helicopter. From his rough upbringing in Maryland, his introverted teenage life, his father shouting in Ukrainian at him when he began to fail in school, his first bb gun, hunting squirrels in the woods by himself, his enlistment, his training, the battles he participated in in the Global War of 2014, the deaths that haunted and hardened him, it all flashed before him as the wind gusted strongly in his face, knocking his boonie hat off of his brown haired head. An expression of steely determination overcame his face as he gave his battle cry, stabbing his blade into the hull of the helicopter, glaring the pilot in the eye.  
"Do pobachenya, kurva."  
With that, Kovatch slapped a satchel of C4 onto the hull and jumped, aiming for the water of the bay. Right before he impacted, he hit the detonator, and the helicopter, once master of the sky, erupted into a flaming explosion. The impact broke his legs and drove the breath from his lungs. His consciousness was fading. As he sank into the water, an otherworldly sense of calm flooded his mind. He had served his country well, he had made a difference. His vision was darkening, and everything became dull except for the gleaming metal of his blade, still firmly clutched in his hand.  
_Burial at sea…___he pondered sleepily.  
And his world became black.

"Kovatch!"  
Pearson tore his helmet off and pulled the release tab on his CIRAS vest, shedding all weight before diving into the bay. It was so dark, clouded with blood and rubble. Wait, there! A shining metal blade in a dark form's grasp was floating downwards.  
_Not today you sonuvabitch._  
He dove and swam as fast as he could, grabbing the pull tab on the back of his vest and swimming madly to the surface. As soon as he broke the surface Milton was on top of him, dragging Kovatch to the shore and opening his vest.  
"I need space, stand the hell back!"  
Welsh and a drenched Pearson obliged, exchanging worried glances. Milton placed his hands on his chest and pumped at a quick pace, whispering his count. Water popped from Kovatch's sickly pale mouth like a waterspout, but he was still unresponsive.  
"Come on Kovatch," the ordinarily passive Milton growled as he resumed pumping.  
More water spurted forth from his mouth, and this time he violently coughed. Milton hastily pulled him into the recovery position as Kovatch's bloodshot eyes snapped open, soaked hair plastered to his forehead.  
"Easy Kovatch, easy!" Pearson and Welsh wasted no time rushing to his side.  
"Hey brother," Pearson knelt, "We did it."  
As if the commander heard him, confirmation rang over the radio.  
"All units, this is the commander. PLA forces in the area have surrendered, we have taken Shanghai, well done gentlemen. Commander Kjellberg out."


End file.
